So, turning up Beaufort Street, I jumped on to a “Red Victoria” at the corner, and making my way upstairs, sat down on one of the front seats.  It was the first time I had been down the King’s Road by daylight, and the sight of all the old familiar landmarks was as refreshing as rain in the desert.  Twice I caught a glimpse of some one whom I had known in the old days—­one man was Murgatroyd, the black and white artist, and the other Doctor O’Hara, the good-natured Irish medico who had once set a broken finger for me.  The latter was coming out of his house as we passed, and I felt a mischievous longing to jump off the bus and introduce myself to him, just to see what he would do.

At the corner of Sloane Square I had an unexpected and rather dramatic reminder of my celebrity.  As we emerged from the King’s Road a procession of five or six sandwich-men suddenly appeared from the direction of Symons Street, shuffling dejectedly along at intervals of a few yards.  They were carrying double boards, on which, boldly printed in red-and-black letters, stared the following announcement: 

MADAME TUSSAUD’S

MARYLEBONE ROAD

NEIL
LYNDON

A LIFELIKE PORTRAIT

I gazed down at them with a sort of fascinated interest.  Somehow or other it seemed rather like reading one’s own tombstone, and I couldn’t help wondering whether I was in the main hall or whether I had been dignified with an eligible site in the Chamber of Horrors.  If it hadn’t been for my appointment I should most certainly have taken a cab straight up to Marylebone Road in order to find out.

Promising myself that treat on the morrow, I stuck to my seat, and at ten minutes to five by the station clock we drew up outside Victoria.  I got off and walked briskly along to Edith Terrace.  Turning the corner of the street, I observed the figure of Miss Gertie ’Uggins leaning against the front railings, apparently engaged in conversation with an errand boy on the other side of the road.  As soon as she recognized me she dived down the area steps, reappearing at the front door just as I reached the house.

“I was watchin’ for yer,” she remarked in a hoarse whisper.  “There’s summun wants to see yer in there.”  She jerked her thumb towards the sitting-room.  “It’s a lidy,” she added.

“A lady!” I said.  “What sort of a lady?”

“Ow!  A reel lidy.  She’s got a lovely ’at.”

“Is she young and dark and rather nice to look at?” I asked.

Gertie nodded.  “That’s ’er.  She wouldn’t give no nime, but that’s ’er right enough.”

I didn’t wait to ask any more questions, but putting down my hat on the hall table, I walked up to the sitting-room and tapped lightly on the door.

“Come in,” called out a voice.

I turned the handle, and the next moment I was face to face with Sonia.